There was a silence in the room and blood in my mouth. Black Bile was rising up to my neck, and I was about to choke. I thought that when I left The Forest, there would be no more of that depraved feeling of helplessness, that dehumanizing feeling on my back when pressed up against a corner. Again, I felt like my life was railroaded on a singular string of fate, a path straight to Hell.

The pistol in my hand was shaking-no, my own hand was shaking. And I regret to say that I still own that pistol out of shame. That night, I wanted to find love, someone to swaddle me in their arms until the night blinked out and the day came. I wanted to find warmth in my heart.

But the only warmth I found was in the quickly-draining blood at my feet.

Log number a hundred and five. January 2nd. I'm Big Gay and Duck's a furry. Both may be chronic. End log.

Log number a hundred and six. January 3rd. Still Big Gay. Duck is still a furry though his fursuit remains undiscovered. Will the expedition never end? End log.

Log number a hundred and seven. January 4th. The Head Honcho says we're moving to some rural town. Unfortunately, I am still Big Gay which will still attract the homophobes. How will my gayness interact with this new environment I wonder? In other news, Duck's fursuit has not been found even with months of searching. Perhaps...there is no fursuit...?
...
Duck's furriness status has been changed from definite to unknown. End Log.

Log number a hundred and eight. January 6th. I have been side-tracked by packing, but I have come across a breakthrough. Duck's fursuit has been found. I repeat, Duck's fursuit has been found. Unfortunately, the fursuit is literally just a vest suit with fur on it, and not the fursuit that I hoped it was. Still, it is progress that has bumped Duck's furry status from unknown back to definite! End Log!